Tc Love Quotes

One can never "fall" in love, you must rise to it's level of consciousness. Love is not a feeling, it's a state of MIND!

Pleasure, I remind myself, is inseparable from its lawfully wedded mate, pain.

If you are too occupied listening to the voice within you screaming how inadequate or unlovable you are, you won't be able to hear God whispering how much He loves you.

I've always been a quitter. I quit the Boy Scouts, the glee club, the marching band. Gave up my paper route, turned my back on the church, stuffed the basketball team. I dropped out of college, sidestepped the army with a 4-F on the grounds of mental instability, went back to school, made a go of it, entered a Ph.D. program in nineteenth-century British literature, sat in the front row, took notes assiduously, bought a pair of horn-rims, and quit on the eve of my comprehensive exams. I got married, separated, divorced. Quit smoking, quit jogging, quit eating red meat. I quit jobs: digging graves, pumping gas, selling insurance, showing pornographic films in an art theater in Boston. When I was nineteen I made frantic love to a pinch-faced, sack-bosomed girl I'd known from high school. She got pregnant. I quit town.

Rejoice, child, the Demon Lord will return for you. He will survive for you; win for you. You are what binds him to life, for he has something the Black Lord does not, the most powerful force of all. Love.

I'd still love you even if you were just a head in a box, Travis McRayne.

Neither TC nor I would choose to spend our lives living in fear of those who might hurt us. Fear doesn't keep people safe, we've always seemed to implicitly agree. It keeps them small and scared.

If you like a football team, you watch their games. If you like football, you watch all the games. If you love football, you watch the draft. If you can't get enough football, you watch the combine.

The thought arrested her and she pulled away from him just to stand there a moment and take in the strangeness of it all. Music drifted down to her then, an odd tinkling sort of music with a rippling rhythmic undercurrent that seemed to tug the melody in another direction altogether, into the depths of a deep churning sea, but beautiful for all that, and so perfect and unexpected. She felt languid and free--all eyes were on her, every man turning to stare--and it came to her that she loved this place, this moment, these people. She could stay here forever, right here, in the gentle sway of the Japanese night.

To Judy Blume, Ann M. Martin, Lois Lowry, and V. C. Andrews; to Eva Hoffman and Lorrie Moore; to Barbara Trapido, Toni Morrison, and Dostoevsky; to TC Boyle, and Miłosz and Szymborska; to Frank McCourt and Francine Prose; to Márquez and Bukowski—my first loves, my mad loves, my many loves, too many to name.

He'd been a fool, he saw that now. How could he have thought, even for a minute, that they'd be safe out here in the suburbs? The world was violent, rotten, corrupt, seething with hatred and perversion, and there was no escaping it. Everything you worked for, everything you loved, had to be locked up as if you were in a castle under siege.

For the rest of her life, Jackie wouldn't forget that comment. She and her daddy weren't as close as they had been, and she felt a pang in her chest whenever she saw him with Sybil, but most of that jealousy was mitigated by T.C. When she had the baby, she realized how much a parent loved a child, and she assumed her father's feelings for her were at least as sturdy. Because of that perspective, all this time she had also assumed that when he asked her how she was doing, when he drove her car to the lot for oil changes, moved her furniture, stopped by unannounced, and paid her light bill, that there was nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing. In reality though he'd been building up anger with every check he signed, every mile he drove, and the last thing she wanted was a favor laced in resentment. She waited for her mam to cut in with a word that might coat the ferocity of what had just been said, but there was only silence, a heavy resolve as though Jackie were the one who needed to explain, as if she would do anything differently if the circumstances tumbled into her lap again.

Malik didn't know who his daddy was yet. And T.C. supposed he didn't know who he was yet either. In his son's eyes he saw so many possibilities. Maybe Malik would know him to be a warrior, someone who turned the odds on their head. Maybe he would see him as just a good man, and, yeah, he'd made some mistakes, but he loved his family, he was there for his son. For a second, T.C. could see himself through the same lens. He bathed in that vision, let it wash over him, closed his eyes. the longer he dwelled inside it, the more he could imagine it being real.

Olo-keZ G-- a tc There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven. -ECCLESIASTES 3:1 What would we do without our day planners? I have a large one for my desk and a carry-all that goes with me. I don't know how a person functions without some type of organizer. I just love it; it truly has become my daily-calendar bible. I take it with me everywhere. My whole life is in that book. Each evening I peek in to see what tomorrow has to bring. I just love to see a busy calendar; it makes me feel so alive. I've got this to do and that to do. Then I come upon a day that has all white space. Not one thing to do. What, oh what, will I do to fill the space and time? That's the way I used to think and plan. All my spaces had appointments written down, and many times they even overlapped. I now plan for white spaces. I even plan ahead weeks or months and black out "saved for me or my family" days. I have begun to realize that there are precious times for myself and my loved ones. Bob and I really try to protect these saved spaces just for us. We may not go anywhere or do anything out of the ordinary, but it's our special time. We can do anything we want: sleep in, stay out late, go to lunch, read a book, go to a movie, or take a nap. I really look forward with great anticipation to when these white spaces appear on my calendar. I've been so impressed when I've read biographies of famous people. Many of them are controllers of their own time. They don't let outsiders dictate their schedules. Sure, there are times when things have to be done on special days, but generally that isn't the case. When we begin to control our calendars, we will find that our lives are more enjoyable and that the tensions of life are more manageable. Make those white spaces your friend, not your enemy.

When I wake I think of my mother. It's like that every day. When someone you love is dying, you'll be just the same. She sleeps next door to me, in the room she once shared with my father. I wish most days that he was still here to care for her. I wish most days that I could remember more about him; the sound of his voice, the way he looked when he smiled.

But this… feeling… I get when I’m around Morgan, the thrill I experience when I’m driving here, the hope of seeing her, the eagerness of seeing Colby’s little smile—I can’t ignore it and I can’t fucking stand it. Want. I want something I don’t deserve.

You sounded and felt like what I’ve imagined heaven would.

Even the ugliest boxes carry the prettiest treasures. Don’t be scared to be ready because you’re afraid. Put your past behind you and open the doors when opportunity knocks.

What a waste for such a handsome man to be..." Minna chuckled. "So you find him attractive." "Who would not, My Queen?" "Indeed, you are right. Who would not? But alas, no woman will ever find comfort in his arms, or passion in his eyes, though it is not impossible that he should love. A woman willing to sacrifice the hope of children might find great happiness with him if she was prepared to be his friend." "But would he wish it?

I don't believe anyone can "fall" in love. No, one must dive in head first.

Friendship is the best prerequisite for love.

see the factory-village and the railway, and fancy that the beauty of the landscape is broken up by these, for they are not yet consecrated in their reading. But the true poet sees them fall within the great order of nature not less than the beehive or the spider’s geometrical web. Nature adopts them very fast into her vital circles, and the gliding train of cars she loves like her own’.

She makes me want things. Her. And just her. I want to know what her lips feel like, what her skin would feel like against my mouth, and what her moans sound like as her body writhes under mine.

I can hear his laughter over the sounds of the crashing waves. I watch with utter joy as my son surfs with a man who has stormed into my life and caused complete chaos inside of my heart.

Give your heart the chance to beat for somebody. You’re just as worthy of love. To give love and to be loved. Don’t let the ugly past mold your future.

Maybe we’re two broken pieces meant to be together to make a whole.

The fire’s out. Lovely. Something blew up in or near the firing range and there was a fire. What nex—no, please don’t answer that, Lord. If he’d learned one thing during his time in Afghanistan, it was to never, ever tempt fate by asking foolish questions.

It is possible to fall madly in love with characters, I do.